


by design

by cloudburst



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff, Post-Overwatch Recall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28744422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: She thinks that it might not be so bad to be known.
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Brigitte Lindholm
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	by design

**Author's Note:**

> this is dedicated to @pharahdise on twitter bc she's hilarious and put this in my mind: https://twitter.com/pharahdise/status/1349180769436979200?s=20 
> 
> mish sorry this is short and i'm lame :D 
> 
> this is also my first time writing brig so... i tried

She wonders how Brigitte has become so intimately familiar with her armor. It’s not something she often thinks about, at least actively, but she supposes that Brigitte has had enough time since the recall to learn just how it works – to learn what makes Pharah tick. And that in and of itself is something of a scary thought, as she’s put so much of herself into it, the dents that never fully come out acting as proof that she’s lived the way she had intended since she was a small girl learning to shoot under her mother’s hands. Fareeha feels a pang at being so known, even through a proxy. Brig may not be inspecting her, but she is inspecting a piece of her that has become so important – one that she holds dear.

( _“Brigitte, I’d love it if you could take a look at my armor sometime.”_

_“It will take some time for me to get familiar with the design but if you don’t mind, I’d love to.”_

And that had been that.)

Pharah thinks, _We’re friends._ It shouldn’t be strange to have an understanding then. And Brigitte is younger, has seen less maybe but seen all the same, and she sees Fareeha; she sees the bold woman who acts with compassion hidden beneath sharp words and commands. Their friendship has allowed her to know the sense of humor Pharah brings to the table, the one that has been touched by war and ravaged by family tragedy. Anyone who knows Fareeha falls in love with it, with her, if even just a little bit.

They’re in the workshop that has been taken over by Torbjorn, by Hana and Brigitte and occasionally Baptiste. It is warm in this room despite the chill in the air outdoors, the artificial heat making Brigitte sweat as she drops the rag she had been holding in her hand. She seems tired from looking at the blue metal in front of her but offers Pharah a small smile.

It’s cliché, Fareeha thinks – and she knows it’s cliché to even recognize that – but her heart maybe skips a beat. _Friends._

“I think I’ve gotten out most of the cosmetic issues. I fixed what was causing you pain in the side, but you should let me know if there’s anything else you need.” Brig wipes at the sweat that’s accumulated on her forehead with the back of her hand. Pharah swallows.

“Thank you.” And the smile she offers to Brigitte is so sincere – spreading across her face instantly. Brigitte thinks it’s like the sunrise; Fareeha doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t think that Pharah needs to know the way she looks forward to her bringing dented armor, sitting across from her with papers from Winston – eyes scanning across the pages as Brig works. It’s something intimate to her, sharing a space with Fareeha as they both work to serve a greater good they’re unsure of. Being around Fareeha makes her a bit more sure, makes her believe they’re doing the right thing. Brigitte thinks she would not wish to be anywhere else, thinks she might be a little bit in love.

And again, Pharah doesn’t need to know.

“No problem!” _It never is, for you._ “I’ve been in here all day – maybe need to get some energy out.”

Pharah laughs, shaking her head at Brigitte like she’s the silliest person in the world. “You’re so…” She trails off, unsure of what she’d been meaning to say even from the beginning. _You make me happy. We could be happy._ None of that would do in an overheated workshop on Gibraltar. So, she speaks when Brig looks away, this time with purpose.

“Hey Brigitte,” and she looks up at Pharah. “Want to go hit the weights?” It would help Brigitte expend energy. It’s definitely not a ploy to spend more time together.

The smile Fareeha is offered is different, somehow – softer maybe, no teeth, lips curving upward. It’s tentative, Pharah thinks, much like the implied question in Brigitte’s next statement.

“Only if we can get something to eat afterwards.”

Pharah has no clue where they’d go – under orders not to leave the base, unsure if she’s reading into her friend’s words. She’s confident, as Jesse always likes to mock her about, but even she has difficulties reading into the motives of beautiful women. She’s only human, after all. (This is contrary to Genji’s opinion, calling her a superhuman warrior – saying she’s his idol. She brushes it off, usually, but not before Brigitte chimes in that it’s true, saying that Fareeha should be so proud. That, more than anything, causes the heat to rise in her cheeks.)

She nods. “Okay.”

It isn’t until hours later, post-shower and post-change-of-clothes that she really remembers what Brig had said. _Only if we can get something to eat afterwards._

The knock on her door brings it back to the forefront of her mind. She wishes she’d thought to change into something other than the white shirt she’s got on. There’s not much else she can do after Brig knocks for the third time; Pharah has been standing still, staring at the handle just a bit too long. To change at this point may be rude, and she’s nothing if not polite. _Usually._ Her mother would scoff.

She opens the door and notices that Brig is wearing her winter coat – the one that Pharah has told her makes her look like Mrs. Claus, all bright red and warm.

Fareeha hums. “Are we going outside?”

Brig nods, and this doesn’t do much to alleviate Pharah’s confusion – her question as to Brig’s plans. But that’s fine, she thinks, as she pulls the hoodie she’d had slung across the dresser by her door over her head, layering it with the leather jacket her mother always says _can’t do anything to keep you warm, Fareeha._ She disregards that warning in the back of her mind, much like she does when it’s said to her face.

They walk through the quiet halls of the Watchpoint together, Pharah asking Brig questions about what she’d done in the hours since they’d left the gym – trying to figure out what she has planned. Fareeha supposes she deserves the laughter she receives in response as Brigitte wiggles the basket she’d had in her other hand at Pharah, the hand that she is _not_ itching to grab with each moment that passes, with each second that brings them closer to the West exit.

“You’re always scheming, Brigitte. Forgive me for being curious.” Fareeha can’t even begin to sound exasperated, though this is what she’s trying to convey. Despite the basket in her hand, Brig opens the door for her. It’s interesting, and it’s _nice_ to be regarded so carefully in such a simple action. Pharah has spent so much of her life regarding _Pharah_ as the only one who can help herself. She thinks that, when Brigitte looks over her armor – when she holds the door open for her, that might not really be true.

She shivers with the wind that hits her, but adjusts quickly. Brigitte, in her oversized coat and from a place much, much colder seems to not notice the biting air. She smiles at Fareeha, and that is warm enough, as she pulls a blanket out of the basket that is apparently much larger than Pharah had thought.

They’re near the edge of the cliff, the water below splashing across the rocks. It’s background noise to her pounding heart. Brig motions for her to come sit down, and she does.

Brigitte begins to pull things out from the basket – Tupperware containers and Ziploc bags. Pharah thinks she sees sandwiches, maybe salmon in one of the containers? She can feel her pulse threatening to break from her throat as she considers how much effort Brigitte has put into this, wonders if she might have been right after all.

She thinks her intuition is confirmed when Brigitte offers her a bit of nervous laughter as she looks at the food spread out across the blanket, the sun sinking lower and lower behind the water. They both know that it will soon be like it had never been there at all, and the moon will rise in the sky to hide the blush across Brigitte’s cheeks. Fareeha hopes the sun takes its time falling.

“I’ve made a few things,” she pauses, considering. “I wasn’t too sure of what you’d like, but it should all still be hot, and there’s water bottles, and dessert for after and…”

Brigitte trails off as she notices Pharah is laughing at her. Fareeha can’t believe she’d ever let herself believe that the way Brigitte had looked at her had been simple adoration and nothing more; it was adoration _and_ a desire for that extra bit of excitement, for the hope to see that smile that made Brig’s day in so many contexts. Pharah thinks that it’s a good thing she feels the same.

“Brigitte,” she says – and Brig’s entire train of thought is derailed as Fareeha moves into her space on the blanket. They’re close, but not touching, not yet. They don’t touch until Pharah rests her hand on top of Brig’s, where her fingers have dug into the fabric of the blanket beneath. “If you wanted to kiss me, you could have just asked.”

Brig splutters, but not before her eyes shoot to look at Pharah’s lips and back up. “That’s not…”

“I know that wasn’t your intention. But I want to kiss you, and I think you want to kiss me back. So can I?”

And it’s Brigitte’s turn to feel like she won’t be able to breathe again. But she nods her head, whispering a _yes_ that the wind carries away, that the waves pull back with them – that the sun hides beyond the horizon.

Their lips meet, and it’s tentative at first, but it’s nice – and when Brig finds her confidence, realizes that Fareeha wants this as much as she does, it’s even more than that. They kiss until their food is cold, giggling like teenagers and smiling between their lips meeting until the moon shines bright across them.

The sun may have set, but Fareeha can still see the blush high across Brig’s cheekbones. She thinks that it might not be so bad to be known.

**Author's Note:**

> lmk what u think if you find yourself here! i'd like to write more of them tbh


End file.
